One windy Sunday afternoon, returning to my hostel room, all dressed in formals for an early morning presentation that made me wait for an eternity, I was enthralled by the presence of numerous kites of all colors right above my head. I searched for the source of the string, where it originated, and was thrilled to see that it was in the hands of a student in a lawn in my very campus. In fact there were hoards of people who were trying their hands at flying the kite. It was an informal event in our annual fest, Manfest. And boy I was glad. I could have hugged the person who came up with the concept of kite flying as an informal event. Instead, I ran towards the registration desk to find out whether I could participate or not. It was an indirect way of asking for the place where the inventory of kites and “charkhis” were stored. I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer anyway. On locating the inventory, I made a dash for it, much to the bemusement of the people enjoying their afternoon lunch in the open air canteen, the one I just ran through. I cared little for those looks. I was elated to see many kites strewn about in a cardboard box. I instinctively picked up the most colorful one, found thread to bind its “kanne” and raced towards the lawn, forgetting that I had forgotten to pick up the “manja” without which the kite could not take to the sky. On realizing my mistake, I ran back. I’m sure the speed at which I was running (un-necessarily) would have put any athlete to shame. Nothing could stop me now. Except the non availability of “manja”. “We ran out of it”, was the organizer’s evasive reply when I demanded it to be made available to me ASAP. “Maybe you can fly it with someone”, was his solution to the problem. So I ran my eyes across the field to see who I knew in the sea of people and could be coaxed into giving up his/her thread to me. As my luck would have it, I found just the guy. His unsuccessful attempts at flying the kite were amusing as he ran one side then the other, the kite barely lifting off the ground. I didn’t volunteer to help him. I knew that another 2 minutes at it and he would tire or the kite would tear apart or both could happen. And as per my wishes, the kite paper could bear no more of the violence and in one crisp tear, made the kite unusable. I was elated. You might think that it was devilish of me to act in such a manner. But then “kite ke liye kuch bhi karega”. I took his “manja” from him, half sympathizing with him and tied it to my kite which was ready by my side. The wind was brisk and in no time I had it in the sky. I was as if I was reliving my childhood. All the past memories flooded back to me….
- My old Delhi house, three storied at that time and one of the tallest in the neighborhood proved unparalleled kite flying experience. I remembered my father by my side, teaching me the tips and tricks of the trade. I remember I used to keep looking heavenwards, hours at a stretch at the many kites that filled up the evening sky like a pack of bees. I remembered that I used to cry myself hoarse with shouts of “i-bokate” when we won the battle of the kites, called “pench”. I remember accompanying my dad to the kite vendor. Fighting with him when he used to offer less thread than he should have for the money that we paid him. I still remember that turning, the face of that shopkeeper who used to sit in the shop and patiently listen to me as I made a hue and cry of everything under the sun. And I remembered that I had cried for hours when a guy near my house had used a stone and thread to intercept my kite in mid flight, and taken it away from my control.
- I remembered me flying kites all alone on the terrace, shooing away my brother who was inept at the art of kite flying and my cousins who used to be an irritant as they got the thread all mangled up. I remembered how I used to climb up the water tank above my terrace, precariously, and in complete disregard of all my relatives shouting at me not to do it.
- I remember moving to a new society, and watching from the glass windows as people flew kites from what was now the 8th floor of our apartment block. I remember how, despite my fever, I summoned all strength to hail a “rickshaw”, travel some distance from our flats and buy the kites and thread and then finally fly them, amongst complete strangers, sometimes aggressive, on the 8th floor. And I remember how I made some friends just by this kite flying ritual that I performed every evening, more regularly than anyone else
- I remember my friends telling me to study for the boards next day and me concentrating all my efforts on flying kites. I remember the dreams I had, of intense battles between kites, and how I managed to steer my kite away from the heat of battle, to take on opponents one at a time. I remember the sometimes, me being the only one flying the kite in the evening. I did not need anyone on those occasions as well. I used to have clouds as temporary barriers and used to circle my kite around, I used to try and take my kite near birds that came in view, it was an enthralling experience even without another kite in the sky. I remember….
I remember so much more. My happiness has no bunds. Kite flying made me remember my childhood like never before. I knew then what I had missed for so long. That one piece of rectangular paper, and brightly colored thread had so many memories wrapped around them, it feels makes me feel like I’m 11 again……..
